


With Your Pretty Mouth

by shadowen



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: F/F, Genderfuck, always-a-girl!Clint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-24
Updated: 2012-04-24
Packaged: 2017-11-04 05:31:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/390304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowen/pseuds/shadowen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint is laughing when she kisses Natasha.</p>
            </blockquote>





	With Your Pretty Mouth

**Author's Note:**

> There's not nearly enough femslash in this fandom, and, at some point, Clint became my village bicycle. So here is Natasha and always-a-girl-Clint having hot, post-mission sex on the floor.

Clint is laughing when she kisses Natasha, and Natasha doesn’t know if it’s because of the adrenaline or if that’s just how Clint kisses all the time. They never do this when adrenaline isn’t a factor.

“Was that fucking close, or what?” Clint crows, and there’s blood on her mouth from a split lip. Now the blood is on Natasha’s mouth, too, and Clint watches her lick it away with big, dark eyes.

“We would have gotten away a lot cleaner if you’d been in position,” Natasha says.

Clint makes a face. “I was under fire! Excuse me for trying to not get shot!”

Natasha rolls her eyes and grabs the front of Clint’s vest, pulling her in for another kiss. This one is slower, harder, but Natasha still feels like Clint is laughing in the back of her mouth. “Thank you for not getting shot,” she says, and she bites down on the cut in Clint’s lip.

Clint spins her around and pins her against the wall, and, yes, she’s laughing and grinning like sunshine as she licks and bites her way down Natasha’s neck. “If I got shot,” she asks, “would you cry?”

Her teeth catch on skin, and Natasha groans and lies, “No.”

Clint is holding Natasha’s wrists off to the sides, one knee wedged into the hot space between Natasha’s legs. “I bet you would,” she says. “I bet you’d go to my funeral and go home and cry and think about me touching you.”

“How about I kill you and we can find out.”

She laughs again, and there’s something bright and dangerous in her blue eyes. “Like to see you try.”

Natasha hooks her leg and swings her around, tumbling both of them to the floor with Clint sprawled and giggling on the bottom. At some point in all of this, Natasha’s suit has come unzipped, for which Clint is probably responsible, and she decides turnabout is fair play. She tears open Clint’s vest, and Clint lifts to help her push it off. Then it’s a sweat-soaked shirt and a sturdy bra, and Natasha is swearing in her head because Clint wears too many goddamn clothes.

“Eager, are we?” Clint says, smirking.

“Shut up, Barton.”

“Make me.”

Natasha scrapes her teeth around Clint’s nipple, and she arches off the the floor with a gasp. 

“Oh, _fuck_ me.”

Natasha is more than willing to oblige.

She undoes Clint’s pants and pulls them down so fast she leaves fingernail scratches on Clint’s thighs. The pants catch on Clint’s boots, but Natasha doesn’t bother pulling them off. She just pushes Clint’s knees apart and thrusts two fingers into that inviting red, wet space.

Clint throws her head back and wails, pressing forward into Natasha’s hand. Corded muscles stand out on her arms as her hands scramble against the floor, seeking purchase, something to hold onto. Natasha puts out her free hand to knead at Clint’s breast, turning the nipple between her fingers, and Clint growls deep in her throat and lays her own hand over Natasha’s.

“Oh god, yes. More.”

With a soft, sucking sound, Natasha slips in another finger, and Clint is pushing up hard, fucking herself to ruin while Natasha watches. Natasha swallows.

“Do you want more?” she asks.

“Fuck!” Clint is moaning and laughing and shouting, all at once, and it’s the filthiest thing Natasha has ever heard. “Fuck. Yes! More.”

Natasha presses down on Clint’s hip and pulls her hand back just enough that Clint, straining up to her, can’t reach. “Say please.”

“Please. Fuck me. Please.”

She pulls her hand away. “Beg.”

Clint gives her a murderous look, but she licks her busted lip slowly and says, “Please, ‘Tasha. Please make me come.”

Natasha grins. She pushes Clint’s thighs further apart, so that every possible bit of her slick, hot pussy is exposed, and lowers her face into it. As her tongue slips up between the folds, Clint tenses and writhes, kept down only by Natasha’s hands holding her open. The taste of her is tart and smooth, and Natasha laps it up like water in a wasteland.

There are words coming out of Clint’s mouth, but they don’t make sense anymore. All Natasha hears is noise, just the dirty, satisfying sounds of Clint coming undone.

She does manage, however, to kick Natasha in the ass and stutter out, “Get a fucking move on.”

Clint is a brat, Natasha thinks, but she’s not exactly anxious to wait, herself, so she slides one hand up to press on Clint’s flat belly and slips the other down the front of her own suit. She’s nearly as wet as Clint is, and there is a rush of satisfaction as her searching fingers reach the tender skin of her cunt. As she strokes herself, feeling the hot pressure rising in the pit of her stomach, she swirls her tongue over Clint’s clit, purses her lips around the flesh, and sucks.

With a bone-deep scream, Clint’s spine curves, and she comes, fists pounding on the floor. Natasha keeps her mouth in place as Clint spasms, letting her knees slip further apart so she can reach just... _there_.

Sensation rolls out from the center of her, bursting behind her eyes, and she stifles her gasps in the heat of Clint’s pussy.

Clint is laughing, sprawled out on the floor with her pants caught around her ankles and her short hair standing in all directions. The blood on her mouth has gotten smeared across her cheek, and the post-mission bruises have started to show. She looks ridiculous and ravished and dangerous.

“Jesus fuck,” she mutters, breathless. “That was great.”

“You’re welcome,” Natasha says dryly, settling back. She doesn’t bother zipping up her suit.

Clint grins. “Next time, I’ll return the favor.”

If there is a next time, Natasha will hold her to it. For now, she closes her eyes and savors the taste of another mission accomplished.


End file.
